I am at a bar. It’s loud. There is live music. And cheeseburgers. I missed dinner tonight because I was making a speech at a dinner banquet. Which is ironic when you think about it.
Everyone at this big banquet was eating hors d’oeuvres, sipping expensive chardonnay, and chowing down on Maine lobsters the size of baby grand pianos.
I could hardly keep my mind on my speech because the ballroom was full of people in tuxedos, all wearing little plastic bibs, making a chorus of slurping, sucking, licking sounds.
A woman at the head table who looked like Queen Elizabeth II was wearing a bib. She kept asking me, “Now, how exactly were you invited to this dinner again?”
Each time I answered, she would get this far-away look in her eyes and start sucking meat from a lobster leg like a baby Wolverine.
So I felt out of place. I felt even worse when the waiter informed me that the bar didn’t stock Natural Light.
Pretty soon, Queen Elizabeth forgot all about me. Butter sauce
dripped down her chin, all over her bib. She would lick her hands violently when she didn’t think anyone was watching. And I don’t mean just her fingers. This woman was actually licking her forearms and her tennis bracelet.
When my speech was done, the last thing I wanted was to stick around and eat lobster with the Royal Family, so I found a beer joint that was open late. Which is where I am now.
It’s a dump, and there are lots of people here. There’s a guy playing guitar. He plays a rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl” and sings in a voice that is faintly reminiscent of the late Daffy Duck.
The lady bartender gives me a menu and asks, “What’re you so dressed up for?”
“I was just at a banquet.”
“Wow. Fancy pants.”
“You shoulda seen them eat lobster.”…